


long live our king

by johnathanwrites



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4587321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnathanwrites/pseuds/johnathanwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After V-Day, society is in ruins. Kingsman needs new agents, and when Eggsy is promoted and told to bring a candidate for training, he picks one of his long-term neighbors, John Watson. With the world vulnerable and its leaders dead, it's hardly a surprise that someone tries to take over...</p><p> </p><p>  <b>~ on hiatus, but will be finished eventually... ~</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. See Me Now

~…~

Practically running down the street, the blue eyed boy’s fingers crossed in the hopes that he’d finally lost Dean’s goons. He’d gone home to tell his Mum about the new house that he had been offered, courtesy of Kingsman, and how much money they would have. She wouldn’t have to stay with Dean anymore. Mum and Daisy would be safe from now on. Except, well, he never got to their flat. Dean’s lapdogs were standing around near the Black Prince and started chasing him as soon as they spotted him. Eggsy couldn’t just smash their faces in, in the middle of the street. Merlin had warned him: if he was going to beat them up, then he had to do it in private where there were no witnesses, no collateral that Merlin would have to deal with. The world was already in deep shit, and Merlin had enough collateral to deal with, without Eggsy roughing around some prats in the middle of the street. It’d teach them a lesson, sure, but Eggsy felt bad enough for Merlin as it was. As head handler, and head of training, he had a lot to deal with at the moment, like assembling new Kingsman agents, sorting the meetings with the few world leaders left, that sort of thing. Plus, he’d lost his closest friend and many other people to V-Day, more than Eggsy. 

Eggsy Unwin might have been in love with Harry Hart, and he might wake up crying several times every night, but he didn’t know many of the other agents, and he’d only known Harry and Percival from the ones that had died in the fighting. Eggsy just had two deaths to really think about. Merlin had… Well, Eggsy couldn’t be entirely sure, but significantly more than that. Speaking of which, Eggsy still had no idea how big Kingsman actually was.

A crash sounded out behind him, and Eggsy suddenly picked up the pace, now running as fast as his legs would carry him, taking in sharp breaths through his nose. He was sure he’d lost them… He’d already ran quite a way. How were Dean’s minions still going? 

He’d managed to hop on a bus for about twenty minutes, then got off when it started going the wrong way for him. Then he realised that Dean’s boys had been on the bus just after him, and that it hadn’t been a good idea to grab a newspaper and sit down for five minutes before he started off walking again. He’d originally tried to change route a few times to his flat, but then his phone vibrated. Rox, telling him that he would probably be needed in about an hour, so Eggsy thought he might as well just go straight to the shop. 

Dean’s boys were on his tail, getting closer. Unfortunately, Eggsy was still not particularly recuperated from V-Day, which was only two days ago. He’d crashed for a while in the old bunker from training at the mansion with Rox, but then he’d set off to go home, and that hadn’t exactly worked out. 

Kingsman was in view now. 

Eggsy took a deep breath, sprinting down the stretch of road, ducking out of the way of the odd person here or there. Not that many people were walking around London, except lorries and a handful of government workers who’d offered to help clear up the destruction left in V-Day's wake. The bodies were being incinerated. There just wasn’t room for them, really. Eggsy didn’t know the figures, but he knew that whilst Valentine had only managed to trigger the SIM cards for a few fleeting moments, that had been enough. Most of the world leaders were dead, and many civilian deaths and casualties occurred too. 

He pushed open the door and ducked inside, just as Dean’s gang caught up with him. They went to follow, but Eggsy leaned back against the door, trying not to let it be pushed open. Ideally, he’d lock it, but right then, he couldn’t. If he let up for just one second they’d be inside of the shop, and whilst that meant that Eggsy would be free to knock the prats out, he doubted that the tailor would appreciate having his store wrecked. 

The boy didn’t even notice another man coming towards him until he was pushing him away from the door. 

“What the fuck are you doing, mate?” Eggsy asked. 

The silver haired man rolled his eyes and opened the door. “Oi, you lot, shoo! This is private property. The street cleaners will hardly notice another few bodies, will they?” he reminded them, pulling out a badge from his pocket. Huh. Police. 

Eggsy prayed that he wasn’t here for him. 

Whilst the ones at the front of the little gang seemed like they wanted to take the agent on, they were dragged away.

“Come on, it ain’t worth it,” one of them said, before walking off. Police had never stopped them before. Odd. 

Eggsy stared at the man. “Um… Thanks?” 

The man nodded, offering his hand. “Greg Lestrade.” 

Eggsy looked him up and down, taking in his appearance as he shook his hand. “No offence, mate, but what’s someone like you doing here?” he asked. He obviously wasn’t here for a suit, and if he was an agent then he’d have offered a code name. 

“I’ve been brought in, recruited, I guess you could say.” 

Eggsy’s eyebrows creased together slightly, then gave a hum of approval. “Why ain’t you up there, then?” he questioned, cocking his head towards the staircase that led up to the meeting room. 

“Oh, I’ve been chucked out for a bit. Sensitive information and all that, and until the man who recommended me gets here, I don’t think they trust me."

Shrugging, Eggsy said, “You seem nice enough."

“Let’s hope so,” Greg said. 

It was almost half an hour before Roxy came down the stairs to see if Eggsy had arrived yet. When they saw each other, they moved together almost magnetically, crashing their bodies together in a tight hug. The boy kissed the top of his friend’s head. 

“That your bird?” Greg asked.

They looked at each other and laughed, before Roxy pulled away to stand next to him. 

It seemed like answer enough, since Greg looked back down at the newspaper he was reading. Funny how they still managed to print tabloids even though society was tumbling around them. Eggsy’s thoughts briefly turned to The Sun, and Harry’s office, and Harry...

“Look, we’ve been talking upstairs. So many agents are just… Gone. We don’t know if they’re dead because they were with Valentine, or if they died because of the SIMs or what, but either way, we need replacements.” Roxy explained. “Come on, we’re on a break, but we can go upstairs now. We’ve got at least one person from each part of the UK branch, and we’re on a call to a bunch of other countries with Kingsman HQs."

Eggsy nodded, before turning back to Greg. “Are you gonna be alright waiting?” he asked, but before the other man could reply, the door was opening. Eggsy’s head spun towards it, but it was just another agent. Eggsy had seen him around occasionally during training, but not often. Excalibur, he was called, but Eggsy wasn’t sure why. He was probably a couple of years older than Eggsy, probably in his mid-twenties, whereas Greg was most likely in his thirties. 

“I apologize for my untimely fashion, Detective Inspector. I had to take my little brother to A&E,” the man said. “Come. Let us go upstairs."

~…~

Two hours previously, Mycroft Holmes sat in A&E amongst the common folk. His leg bounced impatiently, up, down, up, down, slight pressure on the toes of his oxfords. 

Of course, Sherlock was fidgeting more. He sat in the seat next to Mycroft, which would normally be odd, as Sherlock normally refused to sit anywhere near him, but the waiting room was absolutely packed, and they had no choice in the matter. 

They both wore straight faces, even though Sherlock was in quite a bit of pain, and Mycroft had murdered his father less than 48 hours ago. He’d initially fought with his brother, but upon knocking him out, he’d found his father covered in blood. His mother’s blood. Naturally, they fought, and his father died shortly after. 

Leaving Mycroft to look after Sherlock, even though they hardly tolerated each other. 

“Why are we here? Can’t I just stay at home and get doped up?” Sherlock whined. Normally the boy was more formal with his brother, but Mycroft was pretty sure that at least some of the bones in his hands were shattered. They’d been sitting here for about twelve hours so far, but there just weren’t enough doctors to go around. Sherlock had only mentioned the hurt in his hand that morning, when he crawled into Mycroft’s bed in the middle of the night and actually tried to cuddle with him, for the first time since he was seven. 

“No.” Mycroft said softly, tempted to snap, but knew it would do no good. “You need to get that hand looked at, brother mine,” he paused. “Look, Sherly-"

“Don’t call me that."

“Okay, look. You know that I have a minor position in the government?” 

Sherlock nodded, one eyebrow cocked. 

“Well, I’m not going to be home much, obviously. With Mummy and Father… Well, with them gone, and the fact that you scare all of the nannies away within a few hours… I might have a job for you.” Mycroft admitted. His brother might be the youngest recruit ever, at a mere fifteen years old, but he was smart, talented, and proficient in many areas needed: fighting, marksmanship, technology… Maybe not following orders, but with the right initiative, he would be. 

“Boring."

Mycroft breathed in deeply through his nose, trying not to scowl at his little brother. “I don’t think you’d find it boring. Trust me.” 

~…~

Eggsy sat down in a chair which Roxy had managed to snag for him, rather than having to stand up like several other agents he didn’t recognise. The meeting was just about to continue, and Roxy warned him that he might have to talk a bit, so he poured himself a glass of water and gulped down a few mouthfuls before putting the glass back on the table in satisfaction. That earned him a few nasty looks. 

A man sat at the head of the table, glancing around to check that everyone was there. He bore some resemblance to Excalibur, but seemed older, although Eggsy couldn't be sure. The matters of the meeting were gone over fairly quickly, and soon the only people left in the room were the leader of the meeting, Roxy and Eggsy. Before everyone left, he asked all senior agents to bring a recruit in a weeks time. 

"Now, it's come to my attention that the new recruit known as Galahad is here."

Eggsy looked up at the man, then to Roxy, as if asking her who this man was. 

"Kay," she whispered. "He's in charge when Arthur and Galahad are absent." 

"Absent? They're dead!" 

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Unwin." Kay said. "But some of us are not so... Blunt." 

Eggsy huffed, folding his arms against his chest. He sort of wished he was dressed properly for this, but his only suit had been wrecked during V-Day and the only clothes he'd had at HQ were these: sweatpants, his winged Addidas, a t-shirt and a hoodie. He stuck out like a sore thumb, even from those dressed more casually, and now he was almost alone with the temporary head, he felt a bit... Well, intimidated. When he'd defeated Valentine, he'd looked the part, and adrenaline had been flushing through his system. Now, however... Well. He might be kicked out. This man had that power, and no one could stop him. 

"Now, now. Merlin informed me that you're the one, along with Lancelot, that is responsible for Valentine being stopped. Correct?” Kay asked, leaning back in his chair, seeming relaxed. Eggsy knew he recognised him, although he couldn't place the finger on where from. 

Eggsy and Roxy both nodded.

“Good. Now, even though you did not pass the final test when you were selected, we’ve lost many agents all over the world. In the UK, there are seven main positions that need to be filled, and we’d like to offer you one.” 

Eggsy was speechless. He'd been sure that the opposite was going to happen, once he was told that he had to stay behind. 

“So, what? I’ll be the next Galahad?” 

“No, no. That position will be open for recruits. The position you will maintain is one that Merlin happened to suggest. Guinevere."

Eggsy made a face. “Ain't that a girl?” 

“Lancelot was a man, yet your friend here isn’t one, yes? It’s just a code name.” Kay reassured him.

“Alright, so what?"

“When we find a replacement for Arthur, you will… Well. You’ll be his or her right hand man.” 

Eggsy wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. What if this Arthur was as bad as the last one? What if he was made to do his--or her-- dirty work? But then, Eggsy could manage that. At least, he could if it meant his Mum and Daisy would be safe. 

"Instead of missions, however, at the moment, we're working on creating a stable government, so there's no need to worry about being away from your family for now. Merlin told me about your house situation, but because of the destruction caused by V-Day, you won't be able to get a new house just yet... Instead, we'd like to offer you the residence of Galahad until the situation improves." Kay went on to add.

Eggsy's eyebrows knitted together. They were giving him Harry's house? He wasn't sure if that'd be heaven or hell. He'd be able to walk where Harry did, learn all the little intimate parts about his life. But he'd also be reminded of his loss every second he lived there. 

Roxy grasped his hand.

Kay didn't seem to notice his inner turmoil, and continued.

"You're both being promoted to Senior Agents. As such, you're both expected to bring a candidate next week. For now, you can go home. Report to HQ in two days time."

~...~


	2. Coat Of Armour

~...~ 

The train ride was uneventful and going home was even more boring. John sat wedged between his sister and mother for the duration of both the bus ride and the train journey back to their small home, face blank and heart numb. 

The death of Hamish George Watson had the remaining three members of his family staring off into space all afternoon. There had been a call from a military base in Afghanistan, saying that he had died during V-Day, two days ago. Telephone lines had just gone back up, and televisions, services and the like would soon follow. John was expected to go to school tomorrow as was Harry. Elizabeth wasn’t expected to go back to work as she didn’t work in the first place. She sat around, drinking the money John earned by working all bloody day. 

It pissed John right off. 

He still hadn’t really absorbed the fact that his father had died a few days ago. John hadn’t lived with him in several years, and had only seen him a handful of times since John had moved in with his Mum, but he still loved them. Now he was gone. 

Picking at the ratty sleeve of his jumper, the three sat in silence, only communicating when they had to switch trains. John noticed how his mother was shaking, since the trembles vibrated against his leg, but he knew it wasn’t because the older woman was anxious or upset. She was just in withdrawal. 

V-Day left the Watson family in tatters. One alcoholic mother, one young man with no future ahead of him, and a fourteen year old girl, who up until this point, had only ever had to worry about who was dating who and which celebrities were sleeping together. She’d never thought about money problems or death like John had, and never really worried about social services coming to take them away, since John never told her how bad things were getting. He wanted a better life for Harry, one where she didn’t have to concern herself with working three jobs and taking five A-Levels just so she wouldn’t stand out amongst the other people interviewing at university. 

Now that was all fucked. 

They’d had to go to some official office place to confirm that the body of Hamish was really his through a series of photographs, considering the internet was down and flights were unavailable, unless you were extremely wealthy. 

John didn’t know what he was going to do now that his father wouldn’t be chipping in to their household fund. He’d just have to drop out of school. It was his last year, but he hardly had a choice if he was going to support his family single-handedly. 

They finally arrived at their complex, John heard yelling. 

Loud yelling. 

Shit.

What was going on?

Was that Mr. Baker? 

John ran up the stairs to see his neighbour and friend, Eggsy, crash into a wall, back handed by his step-father, before his neck was grabbed and he was almost thrown off of the balcony.

 ~…~ 

 Eggsy had turned up at his flat to a Michelle who started panicking and crying the moment he came inside. Daisy was screaming from her cot, eyes wet, clothes and face dirty. There was a dog barking from inside, which was unusual, since the only dog they had was JB and Roxy was looking after him until Eggsy had moved. 

Slipping passed his Mum, Eggsy walked into the room. “Oh my God. Shit. Fucking, shit.” Eggsy muttered, eyes blown wide. He was still wearing his glasses, so assumably, Merlin could also see the body of a man on the couch. His chest wasn’t rising or falling. His eyes were wide open, unseeing. “He’s dead. He’s dead, ain’t he?” Eggsy spun to face Michelle, whose makeup was running down her face. 

She hiccoughed and nodded, drawing one of her hands to her face, hiding her mouth and nose behind her sleeve. It had been meant for Dean, not one of his goons. He was going to flip his shit when he got back. “I checked, Eggs. Dead as a doornail. What am I gonna do?” 

“Don’t worry, Mum. It’s gonna be okay. Dean’ll think it was me,” Eggsy replied, chewing on his lip. What was he supposed to do?  

A green light flashed in the corner of his glasses, and the little bar that indicates text came up, flashing a few times before letters started appearing. _I’m on it._

Merlin, thank fuck, was a saviour. 

“You’ll go to prison!” Michelle trembled. “I can’t let that happen, I’ll turn mys-"

“It won’t come to that. I promise. Everything’ll be fine. We’ll talk about this later,” Eggsy broke in, taking off his cap, placing it on the table, trying to think of what to do until Merlin had time to sort this mess out.

Then Dean came through the door. 

Eggsy was not having a good day. 

Sure, he’d been given his job, and now he’d definitely have somewhere to look after his family, but his feet ached, his head was pounding, and he’d been chased across the city. Now, he’d gone back to the flat for the first time in days, found a dead body, and he had already been shoved out the door and bent over the balcony by his step-father. 

“I could push ya, and no one would notice you,”  Dean growled in his ear. 

Eggsy didn’t resist. Merlin had droned it into him. If he could get Dean inside, though… Well, it’d be a different story. 

He had everything he needed to pay Dean back for the years of abuse he and his family had suffered at his hands. His Mum had tried to kill him. Eggsy had no idea it had gotten that bad. 

Hearing footsteps behind them, Dean let go of Eggsy just long enough for Eggsy to draw the gun hidden in the back of his trackies. He points it towards the bastard, whilst his head turns towards the source of the intrusion. John Watson.

John was friendly enough, and very polite. He’d moved in to the flat two down from Eggy’s about six years ago, when Eggsy had been in his last year of school. Funny enough, now John was in his last year of school. He’d always been nice to Eggsy and had sometimes offered to babysit Daisy when he knew Eggsy was going out, or when he knew that Dean was getting worse. Because of this, Eggsy had sometimes let the younger boy hang around with him and his friends, and had sometimes took Daisy over to John’s house for his little sister to look after whilst Eggsy tried to teach John how to cook. They’d often spent dinner time together, eating supper with their siblings, or to watch TV. They’d spent less and less time together as John’s Mum stopped working completely, and John himself started. Still, Eggsy would consider the other boy a friend, and one that could keep his mouth shut.

Eggsy motioned with his head for John to go to his flat, eyes flicking back to Dean. 

John quickly moved between the two, a puzzled expression on his face as he went to his door, fumbled for the keys and went inside. 

 ~…~

John sat on his couch, staring at the blank TV as he listened to the commotion going on outside. A bullet went off, then another, and he crossed his fingers that no one was hurt, especially Eggsy, or little Daisy.

Harry came down the stairs, and they ate what John had been able to find in a shop which had been broken into during the riots in for dinner. 

John washed the dishes, tucked his Mum into bed and then sat on the sofa again, Harry next to him now. He suggested a board game. She suggested for him to fuck off. 

Great. 

About an hour after John had come home, he heard keys in the lock, twisting. Eggsy came through the door, carrying Daisy on his hip, his Mum behind him. John had given him a key quite a while ago. Eggsy was practically family, like a big brother he never had, after all. He’d been so worried when Eggsy had disappeared, so he’d just kept checking in on Daisy whenever Dean was out. 

He wondered if it had been Eggsy who’d fired the shots. 

Eggsy put Daisy’s carry bag down on the table and then plonked her down on the sofa next to Harry. “Harry, don’t suppose you could keep my Mum and Daiz company for a bit, maybe mix Daiz up some toast or pasta or somethink?” Eggsy asked the girl, who blushed and nodded. She was fourteen, so she’d moved into that territory of crushes, and she’d been crushing on Eggsy big time. “Don’t suppose you wanna do me a favour?” Eggsy asked the younger boy.

John nodded and stood up, Michelle taking his seat. “Sure. What is it?"

“Just a bit of, um… heavy lifting.”

Heavy lifting turned out to be moving two bodies. 

There was a bald man, wearing the same glasses as Eggsy, wrapping up the body of a prat in tarpaulin and bungie chords. He glanced up when Eggsy and John came into the room, but didn’t stop tying up the body, and didn’t introduce himself.

John stared at the two bodies, wide eyed, fists clenched. “What happened?” 

"Dunno. Mum poisoned him. Was supposed to be for Dean.” Eggsy explained as he went over to the other body and inspected it as his friend finished up.

“Remind me not to get on her bad side,” John muttered, but before he could say anything more, Eggsy’s friend had raised his wrist, pointing his watch at him. 

Eggsy realised that Merlin wanted to send an amnesia dart through John’s neck. “No, no. We can trust him. John’s like… Well. John’s my candidate, yeah? At least if he accepts.” Eggsy rushed quickly, trying to get Merlin to stop. 

Thankfully, he lowered his arm. 

“John, you’re not gonna grass, right? We’re family, stick together and all that, yeah?"

John looked very confused, but nodded rapidly. 

Merlin seemed content with Guin’s judgement, so he let his hands sit in his pockets. 

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow, but we need to get these in the car and get rid of the bodies, first.” Eggsy added, directed to both of them.

Dean’s chest fluttered. 

“Guinevere! You were supposed to check if he was dead!” Merlin exclaimed, bordering on a yell.

“I forgot! Okay, I forgot… What do we do?” Eggsy snapped, taking in a deep breath. As much as he hated Dean, he hadn’t wanted him to die. 

He wanted to prolong his suffering. 

“Leave him here. We’re leaving anyway. Pack all your bags. We’ll move you into HQ until I have Harry’s house sorted enough for you to move in. Couple of days, tops.” Merlin said after a few moments, then pointed his watch at Dean and hit him with an amnesia dart, like he was planning to do to John. 

~...~

 


	3. Misguided Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Just started A-Level, and it’s kicking me in the face. Repeatedly.  
> Also, I’m not going to attempt to write an accent, instead just write incorrectly grammar wise. Some British slang may be used here and there. Most of the time it should be obvious what it means. If not, comment and I’ll fix it :)

John turned around. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked Eggsy, who stood in the doorway of John’s flat. He’d just been explaining to his sister what had happened again.

Excluded. Expelled. Permanently suspended.

John knew that Eggsy had been in that boat before; he’d told him that the last time he got kicked out. Eggsy wasn’t one to offer much information about himself, but when John was having a hard time, he always had some sort of memory or story to cheer him up.

“It’s not nothing to be embarrassed about, fam.” Eggsy replied, walking into the room as the blonde girl stalked into her bedroom and slammed the door. “Dunno why she’s upset though."

John shrugged. “Me either. Think it’s just a teenage girl thing.”

“Just a teenage thing in general, more like.” Eggsy muttered as he walked into the room and sat down on the sofa, watching his friend as he went into the kitchen area and put the kettle on boil, getting out two cups. He made the tea carefully, but in a practised way. Eggsy knew that the steady ritual calmed him, which was fortunate, considering how much tea the younger man drank. His precision in making the drink reminded him of Harry. Everything reminded him of Harry, including what he was about to do. “I have a preposition to make.”

John nodded, taking the tea bags out, binning them, stirring each cup once again before carrying them back to the sofa. He passed one to Eggsy, then sat down. “A preposition?"

Eggsy hummed to confirm the question, sipping the drink softly before making another noise, this one of discontent, considering he’d just scalded the roof of his mouth and tongue. Putting the cup down on the coffee table, he turned to face John. “Exactly."

~…~

Knocking on the door, Merlin waited, hoping the rain would let up by the time he would leave. It was a good neighbourhood, nothing fancy but not rough, either. Average, really. He’d taken the tube here, but the walk from the station to the house had left him cold and wet. Not that he’d say anything about it.

The door opened, revealing a young man in a pair of boxer shorts, trying to pull on a pair of skinny jeans.

“I’m looking for Miss Donovan,” Merlin said.

“You’re not with the filth, are ya?” the boy asked.

Merlin shook his head, blowing air out of his nose in a somewhat controlled manner, impatient to get out of the storm.

“Ah, sorry, cuz,” the boy muttered as he got out the way of the door, motioning the man in, before calling up the stairs. “Sally, your boyfriend’s here!”

A few moments later, there were footsteps up above, then a banging from the staircase, as Sally bounded down the steps. “Not my boyfriend,” she replied, huffing as she pushed her sleeves up.

As soon as Merlin caught eyes on her, they widened. It’d been three weeks since he last saw her, and in that space of time, she’d changed. A lot. This was why her parents were so reluctant to let her go to university in London, rather than up north, near Scotland, where she came from. Merlin said he’d make sure to check in on her every other week or so, but since V-Day had come and the running up to it was just as difficult to handle, he hadn’t really had a chance to see her. He’d phoned, of course, as soon as the lines went back up, to check that she was uninjured (she got away with a few bruises after Merlin had shot her a quick text before the signal went down. (Apparently, she locked herself in the closet and chucked the key on the tallest cabinet there. He didn’t know how she got out.)

Anyway, there she stood, no longer dressed in her neat shirt or tidy skirt. Instead, she was… Punk? This would be on his head. Her parents would blame him, definitely. He said he’d look after her.

“Your father won’t be very happy that you’ve shaved half of your hair off,” he chided, not telling her what he himself thought of it. He didn’t want to encourage her. He hadn’t always been the bald man in the sweater, after all. Hopefully if he could get her a place, her parents wouldn’t care so much about what she looked like, rather than the danger she would face daily. “Do you have anywhere private we can talk?” he asked. Merlin heard sniggers from the other side of one of the doors along the hallway. Apparently, everyone was listening in.

Sally nodded and motioned for him to follow her upstairs. “What do you want?” she questioned after a second as she led him up two flights of stairs, guiding him to her room.

“You never really wanted to be here, did you? At uni?” he replied after a moment of thought, looking around at all the junk that was laying about. Pieces of artwork, smashed instruments, half used pencils, crushed lipstick tubes...

“A non sequiter,” Sally said as she closed the door behind them. “No, not really."

“Well, I have an opportunity for you,” Merlin stood beside the door whilst Sally sat down on her bed. As Merlin wasn’t actually an agent, he’d never been told to bring a candidate before, but since there were so many spaces to fill, literally everyone who worked for Kingsman UK HQ was told to bring one. He’d never really thought of a candidate, before, but now he had to provide one, and Sally fit the bill. She was loyal, determined and smart. Unlike her current fashion statement suggested, she didn’t have a problem with authority, but she was just irrevocably herself. It just so happened that herself meant leather, safety pins and ripped jeans. She was young for a candidate, yes, but Merlin was sure that some of the candidates would be quite young. After all, Eggsy and Roxy would hardly chose people older than them. Most candidates were under thirty, anyway, considering Kingsman liked to get them young so they could train them to be exactly what they needed. And besides, Sally was only two years younger than Eggsy.

“Go on.” Sally replied.

“There’s a new spot where I work. You’ll have to fight for the position, but if you get it, you’ll be set for life."

“Right. At a tailors?”

Merlin chuckled. “No. Of course not.”

“I knew it! I knew it was a cover up. All those stories when I was little…"

“Were all true, yes. Major breach of security, of course, but what’s the harm in telling an eight year old about villains who seem like they’re from a bond movie?”

“So. A spy agency.”

Merlin knew he wasn’t supposed to say anything until she agreed to his offer, but he had no doubt in mind. “Kingsman. Founded in 1849. Originally it was a tailors, yes, but in 1919, that changed. World War One meant that there was a lot of money uninherited, and a lot of powerful people who wanted to keep the peace. So we became an international intelligence agency, without the influence of the government. Now. V-Day. Richmond Valentine was taken down by our two newest members, aided by myself. That’s a large scale mission, but that’s what we do.”

“Save the world?” Sally asked.

“Pretty much."

“When do I start?”

~…~

Roxy wandered aimlessly, hands in her pockets, shielding them from the cool air. Percival had practically raised her, along with Lancelot. In the span of less than a year, they were both gone. Dead. Her parents wanted nothing to do with her, said she wasn’t lady-like enough. But Percy (which was actually his name, surprisingly enough) and James had taken her in when she declared that she’d wanted to do a man’s job and do man’s things, just because she wanted to when she was seven years old. Over the last few years, she’d made amends with her father, but she’d still lived with Percy and James, and viewed them as her parents, even if she now knew her step-sister very well. She felt like punching something, like Eggsy would. She wanted a hug, from someone in a sweater who smelled like cinnamon. But he wasn’t here, he was busy sorting out the world, and everyone else was moving on. Even Eggsy, who was too blind to see that Harry actually liked him back, when everyone else could clearly see it on both of their faces. Now Eggsy didn’t have to worry about that, because Harry was gone. Which left Roxy with Eggsy, Merlin and her step-sister, Clara. She didn’t even know who’d she’d bring in three days time for the candidate introduction. Oh.

Clara.

~…~

Mycroft had considered a leash for his baby brother. He stopped every few paces to stare in the windows of the shops, or went of galavanting on his own until Mycroft managed to find him half an hour later. There was no keeping him under control. He dared to say that he appreciated his brother more when he was doped up. Five days after he’d had his hand looked at, treated and wrapped up, his medication was dwindling. Mycroft refused to let him stay on the drugs no longer than was absolutely necessary. He wouldn’t say it, but he was scared his baby brother would get addicted again. That he wouldn’t stop. That he’d end up finding him on the bathroom floor of Mycroft’s newly purchased home, heart still.

Mycroft had bought a new house recently, a four bedroom in Mayfair, which was convenient because it meant the Kingsman shop was only a ten minute walk away. It took more like an hour with Sherlock trailing behind him, but still. Mycroft set out early so he wouldn’t be late. Unlike certain people, not mentioning names.

Mycroft was being sent to a meeting in North France to talk with the EU leaders, so he was dropping Sherlock off at the HQ a couple of days early. It wasn’t like there was no one was around. After all, there were the handlers, the nurses, and of course, the housemistresses. Surely he could lump his brother off on someone. If not one of the staff, maybe one of those new young recruits. Surely they’d feel pity for him.

Or, maybe not, considering this was Sherlock he was thinking about.

Mycroft had spent the week giving Sherlock a crash course on how to be a Kingsman. Given his age and unwillingness to listen, it was fair enough that Mycroft didn’t just chuck him in at the deep end. Sherrinford, their uncle, agreed. He was acting as head right now, so he had most power. It wasn’t like anyone would find out anyway.

Sherlock seemed to like the idea so far. He’d struggled most in the shooting range, but even then, his results were decent. They’d develop even more over the course of his training. He’d found the theory tedious, but he hadn’t had to do much of it, considering he understood it all already. If Mycroft had to pick which part of the training his brother would find difficult, it would be the teamwork needed. His best hope would be to find one of the other candidates who didn’t want to punch him on sight, and stick with them.

He had an idea of who the other candidates would be. Anthea, Mycroft’s personal handler, would no doubt bring Soo Lin, who was one of her only friends outside of the agency. Sherrinford would no doubt bring his daughter (who now lived with her mother after a lengthy divorce), Merlin would bring his god-daughter, and Lancelot would bring her step-sister, most likely. That said, he wasn’t entirely sure who Guinevere himself would be bringing. If he had to guess, he’d put his bet on his next-door neighbour. He was young, had a father who’d been in military service, and also had a younger sister. Just like Eggsy. No doubt, Eggsy would feel bad for the boy. Yes, he was sure he could set Sherlock up with one of these candidates. He would make sure he didn’t get attached, though. After all, when it was down to the final six, and someone had to go, he must not let his feelings get in the way of his position. He had to get this.

Mycroft was sure he would.

Maybe Sherlock would actually realise that his transport was important for the first time in his life.

Ha.

~…~

Molly Hooper liked working in the medical bay. She liked patching up the agents, she liked sitting with Sarah and gossiping with her when no one was around. She liked being sent along to retrieve agents and patch them up afterwards. She liked running collateral. Clearing up the bodies. Taking them to families, burying them, or occasionally disposing of them.

When Sarah wasn’t around, Molly liked to scroll through tumblr on her phone. She saw all these pictures of couples, or of skinny, pretty, popular girls who had everything they wanted. Molly wanted that. She wanted that so bad. Instead she had her job, her Harry Potter fan fiction, and anime, to occupy her time. Not forgetting her two cats, James and Lily.

At almost seventeen years old, Molly left university after a year, realising she hated it. She needed a degree to be a doctor or a scientist, but she couldn’t handle the other people. They were so cruel. Molly went back to her room in tears most nights because of it.

She'd gotten an email five months ago from one of her old teachers with a forwarded job offer, so she moved to London and started training as a medical apprentice alongside Sarah, taught by Mrs Turner, who would soon be retiring.

After V-Day, she knew there had been a lot of casualties, but she’d no idea there had been this many. She didn’t realise there’d be so many new recruits running around, especially not unsupervised.

So when a lanky pale boy with a nest for hair came into the infirmary looking for something interesting to do, Molly was surprised, and definitely interested.

~…~

Kentucky had a lot of casualties. No one noticed when an unnamed hospital patient was picked up by a young woman who never looked up from her phone, and two lackeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that some characters may be out of character due to a) age changes and b) the fact I've never written them before :)
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


	4. Minimal Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very John-centric chapter, in which he arrives at the HQ and meets his new roommate...

~…~

The cab pulled up outside the gate, tires squeaking against the tarmac. It’d been a long drive, nearing on two hours. It probably should have taken just over an hour, but that was London for you. John was desperate to climb out and stretch his legs. Luckily, it was a prepaid ride; all John had to do was get out and get his bags. Eggsy had told him that the cab would take him to his destination earlier, and he’d come along in a bit since he still had to sort a few things out. During the last week, Eggsy had moved out of his old flat and into a house, taking his family with him, as well as John and his sister. John thought that Eggsy was probably sorting out that or something. The door clicked open as he pulled the handle. John swung his legs around to rest against the ground. Eggsy had already sent ahead a bag of John's belongings, so John just had a small rucksack with a few bits in it. With a nod of thanks to the driver, John stared up at the daunting gates, taking a deep breath as he tried to gather his courage. The gates seemed formidable, even though the weather was bright. 

_Am I really going to do this?_ John thought, but after a second, he muttered to himself in reply. “It’s a bit late not to now, isn’t it?"

Glancing around, he noticed a few other candidates climbing out of cars, but none of them seemed as nervous as John felt. He knew that it was a bad idea to seem anxious—they could smell fear in places like this.

 _Let’s go inside, then. Where did Eggsy say I'm suposed to go?_ He thought back to the conversation he’d had with his friend a few hours ago, remembering that he was supposed to just go through the gates, tell them that he was Guinivere’s recruit, and someone would take him through, so he walked up to the fancy gates before repeating what Eggsy had told him.

A young woman came out, a poodle in tow on a leash beside her. She stuck her other hand out and shook John’s left hand, his dominant one, oddly enough. “I’m Agent Lancelot, Eggsy’s partner. Good timing, he’s just inside.” 

John wondered how Eggsy had gotten there before him, considering he’d left later than him, but said nothing. Following Lancelot down the path and into the manor, he could have sworn his jaw almost hit the floor. There were tapestries everywhere, and the ceiling was sculpted with cherubs and a huge chandelier hung down over a grand staircase.

A bald man stood near the staircase with a clipboard. John recognised him… “Ah, Lancelot. Is this your recruit?” he asked in a Scottish brogue, not looking up from the sheet of paper he was writing on. It clicked. This was the man who’d helped Eggsy with the bodies last week… 

She shook her head with a smile, blushing a little as his attentions turned on her. A crush. Interesting, considering he seemed almost old enough to be her dad. “Guin’s. He was running late.”

“I suppose he takes after Harry in that respect,” the man answered, finally looking up at them, realising who John was. 

Eggsy walked down the stairs in a suit and a pair of those glasses that the other two were also wearing. “Took, Merlin. Took after Harry.” He smiled, but John could tell that Eggsy was upset by the statement. 

The man’s eyes shone with the same sadness that filled Eggsy’s voice. “Go on, take him. Watson, right?” he checked, flipping the page on the pad. John realised just how many people he’d be up against. There had to be at least fifty or sixty names on that list.

Lancelot seemed to notice his surprise at the sheer number of candidates. “Fifty two, including you,” she told him. 

“The blue room,” Merlin said finally. “Go on, take him. Dinner’s at seven.”

Eggsy motioned for him to follow up the stairs, so John went. 

“You alright, mate?”

John nodded. He wanted to ask what had happened to Galahad, but something told him it was a bad idea. Something told him that his mum hadn’t been the cause of the glass bottles in the recycling this week. Eggsy had.

After a pregnant pause, Eggsy said, “Last year, when I was a candidate, we all slept in the bunkers down stairs, but this year there are so many recruits that the house ladies decided to just clear out some unused rooms and turn them into bedrooms. Everyone else is in groups of five, but it’s just you and another guy in your room, because his uncle is in charge at the moment and we all know what a pain in the arse he is. Luckily he spends most of his time in the med ward, irritating the nurses, so you should be alright.” 

John nodded as they walked along a corridor, coming to stop outside a room with a black door and a small sign saying ‘The Blue Room’ on it. 

Eggsy banged on the door once, then pushed it open.

A boy sat hunched over his desk, which faced out into the room, crowding over a microscope. John assumed this must be one of his new roommates. He couldn’t see his face from this angle, but his hair was a mess of curls, and his posture was oddly good for someone looking down a microscope, never mind a teenage boy. John wondered if his hair was as soft as it seemed, what it would feel like to touch. 

“Unwin, can I borrow your phone? Mine was confiscated.”

“Already? Who by? We talked about this, ya know, me and your brother. You need to stop chucking it out of windows or against the wall, or whatever, it makes a racket.” Eggsy responded, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.  
“Anderson shouldn’t have been standing in the way if he didn’t want a Blackberry to the face,” the boy retorted.

Eggsy snorted. “Sorry, mate. It’s in my office.”

The boy muttered something under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like “useless.”

John dug his own phone out of my back pocket. It was old and battered, his Mum’s old one, from before she needed one that took pictures for her work. “Er, here. Use mine.” He said.

The boy looked up for the first time, eyes connecting with John’s, and he could have sworn his knees nearly gave. He was so ethereal, his face was unconventionally handsome, and his eyes looked like they contained a galaxy of knowledge. 

“Oh. Thank you,” the boy said, getting to his feet before coming over to where John and Eggsy stood in the door way.

“It’s my next door neighbour, John Watson.” Eggsy told the boy as the boy took John's phone from his hand.

The boy turned away a bit, flipping open the phone, typing on it more quickly than John ever had. “Alcoholic or drug addict?”

John's eyebrows creased in confusion. Glancing to Eggsy, he realised he was just smiling knowingly. John looked back to the boy as he typed. “Sorry?”

“Your mother —an alcoholic or a drug addict?” His eyes met John’s briefly.

“Alcoholic. Sorry, how did you know...?” John replied, voice trailing off at the end. John was shocked, and a little angry. No one really knew about his home life except Eggsy and a couple of his mates from the estate, like Bill and Mike. 

Behind them, the door opened. Eggsy and John stepped forwards so as to not be in the way of the entering person, who they soon discovered was a girl, also around their age, carrying two cups. John noticed that the boy stared at her briefly, before speaking.

“Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you,” he said, flipping John's phone closed and handing it back to him, simultaneously taking the mug in his other hand. “What happened to the lipstick?”

The girl, Molly, smiled a bit awkwardly. “It wasn’t working for me.” She’d barely glanced at Eggsy or John, her attention solely focused on the boy. At first, John wondered if they were together, as in, dating, but then he changed his mind: he wasn’t affectionate, just polite, and you don’t pine after someone you’re already dating, not like Molly seemed to be, with all but hearts in her eyes, like an emoji or something.

“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now,” the boy said, sipping at the coffee, then placing it down with his nose wrinkled. That pretty much confirmed it. If they were dating, he wouldn’t say that sort of thing in front of their friends, and she would probably know how he takes his coffee. He went back around to the microscope, staring down the lens, a soft hum emitting from deep in his throat as he observed. His voice was surprisingly low for someone who seemed younger than even John.

“Um, okay,” Molly muttered before taking a sip of her coffee, eyes trailing shyly over to Eggsy first, then John. She nodded in greeting, before turning around and walking out the door.

Without looking up, the boy said, “How do you feel about the violin?”

After a moment, John realised he was talking to him. Who else would he be speaking to? “I’m sorry, what?”

The boy switched the lens on the microscope before turning to his MacBook, typing away quickly. “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end,” he looked up at John. “Would that bother you? Potential roommates should know the worst about each other.”

“Not potential, Holmes. No wiggling your way out of it.” Eggsy reminded him. Holmes. Interesting. As in…?

Either way, Holmes rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s debatable. He could report me to one of the senior agents and get moved. Or I could report him to Mrs Hudson, and get him moved,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

It took John a moment to catch up. “Oh, you ... you told him about me?”

“Not a word,” replied Eggsy.

John cocked an eyebrow. “Then how did you know I’m your new roommate?”

Rolling his eyes, Holmes stepped away from his laptop and grabbed his coat from the bed. “Obvious. Eggsy wouldn’t bring a friend here for no reason, especially not a new recruit, unless it was some sort of hazing prank, and no one does that here after those boys from the second but last recruitment got disqualified because of it. I’m not exactly sociable, or a particularly helpful person to know, unless you want a crime solved or to cheat on your homework for a fair fee. Considering you’re working three jobs to keep up with your mother’s alcoholism, you’d hardly have the money to pay me for either service, so again, not a helpful person to know. Eliminated the unlikely, arrived at the correct conclusion.”

“How did you know that my mum’s an alcoholic?” John asked, still confused.

Holmes glanced to Eggsy. “He’s acceptable. Better than the others that people have tried to stick in here with me, at least.” Holmes slipped into the huge coat, which probably cost more than John's whole wardrobe combined, and turned to leave. “Sorry, gotta dash,” he said as he pulled open the black painted door.

“Wait--I don’t even know your name.” John said. “And how do you know I’m ‘acceptable’? You don’t know anything about me. Well, except that, I guess. Do I have a file? Did you read it?”

Rolling his eyes, Holmes shook his head to the last question posed. “I know you’re a boy from the estates, who worked three jobs all summer to keep your family from starving, and that your mother is worried about you, but usually too smashed out of her head to care. I know your worried about your little brother, but he’s moved into Unwin’s house with your mothers and Unwin’s sister, so you shouldn’t be. I know you were expelled from your last three schools but you’re a remarkably average young man who doesn’t go looking for fights, but you also know the teachers don’t see it that way - quite correctly, I’m afraid,” the boy said, all in one long stream of breath, a statement, not questions.

How did he do that? How did he know that?

“That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” Holmes finished. Opening the door, he turned to look at the pair once more. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and I’ll see you after dinner,” he winked at John, with a click of the tongue, then glanced at Eggsy. “Afternoon.”

Eggsy waved in a goodbye before the door slammed shut. “Yeah. He’s always like that,”

~…~

Looking around the bunker as he walked in for dinner, John noticed that everyone else here seemed like supermodels, all dressed in fancy button ups and trousers which seemed to be made especially for them. Yet there he was, sticking out like a sore thumb, in the red sweater that he’d sewn up more times than he could count over the years, and a pair of jeans that he had bought from Primark nearly two years ago. At least semi-tanned skin lurked underneath the old jumper he wore, unlike all the pale candidates here. Still, it was lucky that he never really grew much once he hit fourteen. Playing sports on scholarship at his last school had given him definition, but it didn’t give him any extra height. Although, even if it was convenient in the way of clothing, it was frustrating in the romance department. After all, what girl wants to date a guy shorter than her?

His Mum said clothes didn’t matter, because anyone worth knowing would only care about the person underneath them, but clearly she’d never been to a place like this. Maybe that’s why his Dad left. John never really knew him, so he didn’t miss him, to be honest. Whenever people found out that John don’t have a male influence in his life, they'd think ‘oh, poor John, left to be the man of the house!’ but it didn’t really bother him. He was pretty sure that that was just a social construct or something, anyway. There’s not much a man can do that a woman can’t, and his Mum is great enough to fill both roles on her own, thank you very much. Well, she was, before she started drinking.

Still, when he got stuck in the queue for dinner, he almost forgot that he was in a palace with a bunch of snobs. The atmosphere was similar to the one at lunch in his last school: groups sitting together, complaining about the weather, some of the younger ones chewing with their mouths open, others yelling across the hall, or flicking peas at each other. He guessed the unruliness here was to be expected. They probably had to sit in silence to eat dinner at home, or discuss politics or government or whatever. Here, they could do what they wanted, and that was probably quite freeing. Collecting the food, John realise just how different it was here. This food wasn’t just heated up slop, it was wholesome, good, food. He stared down at his plate of grilled ‘Brazino’ (whatever that was) which was accompanied by tomatoes, peas and boiled new potatoes. Definitely not slop.

John glanced around the bunker, trying to find an empty table. Sherlock was not there, and he couldn’t see Eggsy, although some of the other mentors were in the bunker, stationed around to make sure everything was in order. Some sat at tables with their candidates, but no sign of Eggsy, or his partner, Lancelot. John felt like taking his food back to his room, but he wasn’t sure that he was allowed to. Maybe he didn’t quite fit in here after all. At least, he thought so until he heard a call of “Watson!”

He turned to see a group around one of the tables. Merlin was getting up, leaving a convenient place for him. John quickly made his way over to the odd collection of people. 

“You looked a bit lost, lad. Sit down, why don’t you?” Merlin said, before turning away and walking out.

Firstly, there was Molly, the girl he’d met earlier, and next to her was a younger Asian girl with a neat bob. Next to them was a slightly older girl, probably in her early twenties, with darker skin and half a head of hair. Opposite them was a man with a rat-like face, and an anxious but soft looking man. 

John slid into the chair at the end of the table, where Merlin had sat.

“Sally, this is ridiculous. Your parents will kill you if they realised you shaved half of your hair off!” the rat-like man said.

“He’s just saying that because he thought short skirts and pink dresses were better for the wank bank. Do what you want." That was neat girl.

“Punk is dead.” the rat argued.

“If punk is dead, how do you explain me?” The girl, who John assumed was Sally, finally said.

Molly cleared her throat. “This is John, everybody. John, this is Sally,” she said motioning to the girl. Sally's accent was neat and prim, but what she said didn’t necessarily agree with that. Even so, it was evident in her smirk and the fact that her choice of clothing said that she did not belong in this world of luxury, but everyone acted as if she did, that she belonged more than John did. “And this is Phil,” she motioned to the rat-boy. She continued around the table, introducing John to Clara and Henry. 

All of a sudden everyone was talking over each other, and John couldn’t really understand what was being said until Sally punched Phil’s arm.  
“Anyway... John is Sherlock’s new roommate,” Molly announced over the top of the others, who were still talking. With the last few words, everyone suddenly became very quiet. Apparently she wasn’t a mouse all of the time.

“Good luck with that, mate,” said Sally.

The other three remained silent, apparently now interested in their food more than the conversation.

“What’s wrong with that?” John asked.

“Well, be careful he doesn’t ruin your bedsheets with chemicals or touch you in your sleep. Fucking fag,” Phil said, voice full of disgust. John wasn’t sure how just Sherlock’s name alone could raise such an attitude, but Phil’s face had gone from joking to a bitter scowl within seconds as soon as the curly-haired boy’s name had been brought up. John wondered if everyone knew everyone already. It certainly seemed that way. 

“How does everyone already know each other?” John asked finally.

Clara smiled at him briefly before answering. “Some of us have been here for a couple of days now, since we’ve come from across the country, but others are just friends of each others families."

“If anyone starts a betting pool, Excalibur will know and kick everyone out,” Molly reminded the others. John realised that she wasn’t a candidate then, piecing together the fact that she was wearing a lab coat and knew senior agents already. A nurse, maybe?

“Why would they make a betting pool? What’s there to bet on?” John inquired, eyebrow raised.

Sally looked up, face a bit grim. “How long you’ll last.”

~…~

Once dinner was finished and all cleared away, the remaining mentors left and the candidates sat around drinking tea, some dipping biscuits in their beverages. 

The bald man walked into the room once more, carrying his clipboard again. All it took was for him to clear his throat and everyone fell silent. "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Merlin. You are about to embark on what is probably the most dangerous job interview in the world. Out of the fifty two of you that sit here-“ John was pretty sure there was only fifty one. Sherlock still hadn’t turned up. “- only five of you will be selected as agents. Some of you may stay on in other departments, but most of you will be sent home. Or the alternative,” he picked up a bag from the table which had held plates of food previously. "Can anybody tell me what this is?” 

The majority of candidates put there hands up in the air. John was pretty sure that was… Well.

Merlin pointed to a young man to answer. 

“A body bag, sir.”

“Exactly. And you would be?” Merlin asked.

“Wilkes, Sebastian Wilkes,” he introduced.

"Good. When you go upstairs, you will find a small box at the end of your bed. An ear piece, a map and a few other useful bits will be inside of it.” He looked around the room, letting the moment linger. “Look through that bag. At the bottom, you will find one of these,” he held up the bag again before putting it down on the table. "You will write your name on that bag. You will write the details of your next of kin on that bag. This represents your acknowledgment of the risks you are about to face, as well as your agreement to strict confidentiality, which incidentally if you break, will result in you and your next of kin being in that bag. Is that understood?”

Once again, almost everyone nodded. 

"Excellent. You will all be expected here, ready and dressed at 7am sharp. At ease, everyone,” he added before leaving. 

~…~

John almost got lost on his way to his room but he spotted Lancelot on the way upstairs and she directed him about where to go. John checked his phone on his way along the corridor, noting that he had a missed call from his Mum and a text from Harry. He looked at his sent messages, wondering what Sherlock had done when he’d borrowed his phone earlier. All John found was a message reading:

If brother has green ladder

arrest brother.

SH

John quickly made his way to his room, wondering if his mysterious roommate would be back yet. Knocking on the door before pushing it open, he found Sherlock sitting on his desk-chair whilst an elderly woman sat on his bed. John wondered if this woman was his mother or something, since his uncle was in charge, so he could probably get away with anything. 

His roommate’s head turned swiftly towards him, eyes obviously examining him. “Mrs Hudson, John Watson.”

“Hello,” the woman said with a smile.

John sighed and walked over to his own bed, sitting down on it, pulling his battered trainers off one by one. He looked around the room in the mean time, having not spent much time here earlier, instead walking around and exploring before dinner. John was curious about Sherlock’s possessions, considering what everyone had said about him. Chemistry equipment balanced on books, a microscope sat on the desk, half hanging off, pushed by other things. There was a small fireplace between their beds, with windows each side of it. It was then that John noticed the skull sitting there.

“That’s a skull.”

Sherlock hummed. “Friend of mine,” he said, clearly not considering what he’d just told John until a few moments later, adding, “When I say ‘friend’...”

Mrs Hudson looked like she wanted to say something.

“Of course we’ll be needing two beds,” Sherlock remarked absently. John guessed he was replying to her look, but John would have spat out whatever he was drinking if he’d had a cup in his hand.

Mrs Hudson noted his surprise. “Oh, don’t worry; there’s all sorts round here,” she confided. “Mrs Turner who sorts out the girls has a couple who do more than share a room, if you catch my drift.”

John looked to Sherlock, hoping he’d back him up, tell her that John wasn't like that, that Sherlock wasn’t like that, that they were both not like that, but no affirmation came.

Mrs Hudson stood up and went over to Sherlock’s wardrobe. “Everything put away yet, dear?” she asked him, opening the doors. She quickly shut them again. “Oh, Sherlock. The mess you’ve made,” she muttered, more to herself than to the candidates. From the smell that was quickly spreading, John assumed he was storing yet more chemicals in his closet. “You know you can use the science rooms, don’t you?”

“Nonsense, Mrs Hudson. They’d only move my things around and ruin my experiments.”

“Well, if you do anything like the thing you did last year in your bedroom, with the urine, please don’t keep it in here, love,” she said. Apparently she thought of more to say, as she turned to John, and said, “Oh yes, by the way, John, I’m the housemistress here for the boys. If you have any problems, any troubles at all, come see me. My quarters are by the bunkers. If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable talking to a woman about, then see Mr. Chatterjee downstairs, yes?"

John nodded as Mrs Hudson gave Sherlock a hug, then gave the same to him. John was surprised, but accepted the warm embrace from her. She wore the same perfume as his Mum. Yesterday, his Mum had actually been sober enough to see him off. Eggsy had bought a cake and some crisps, and a few friends had come around to say goodbye to him. John thought it was a bit weird, since this was just an extended job interview, really, and there’s always texts or Skype, but the way his Mum was acting, it seemed like he was headed off to his death. John guessed it was just because she was his Mum.

Mrs Hudson said her goodbyes and then left the room, closing the door behind herself.

John then noticed the small box at the end of his bed and dug through it, noting the torch, ear piece, a booklet, a body bag and a bunch of other little things. He took out the bag and followed the directions from earlier after picking up a pen from Sherlock’s desk (the boy didn’t notice).

Sherlock turned to John, looking up from his experiment finally. “When I met you for the first time a few hours ago, I said, ‘Alcoholic or drug addict?’ You looked surprised.”

“Yes, how did you know?” John asked, still puzzled by what he had told him. Clearly he was intelligent, or he wouldn’t be here, or have all of this chemistry equipment, but being able to read someone’s history as soon as you meet them seemed more like a superpower than a high IQ to John.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, your clothes, say well cared for, and the way you hold yourself, says well disciplined. But all things considered, young men normally don’t care for their clothes, especially ten quid skinnies from Primark. This tells me you look after your things, and who cares for their belongings the most? The people with few belongings. Obvious. If you had an abundance of money, like everyone else, you would’t have to worry about sewing up the holes, since you’d just get new clothes. You look like someone who’s tired, not just someone who’s had a few late nights from studying, no you have a prolonged deficiency of sleep, most likely caused by working several jobs, since your brother is younger and therefore can’t, and your mother wouldn’t turn up if she had one. Your nose is slightly crooked--could be from birth, could be from falling out of a tree, but that’s caused from multiple breaks, and your accent tells me London, and there are hardly any suitable trees to climb there. No, it was purposely broken. Now, why would someone who seems so calm and self-caring get his nose broken? Could be from domestic issues, but the faint smell of perfume and alcohol tells me that your mother probably hugged you before you left, and that whilst she’s an alcoholic, she has not been hitting you, as she would not likely have the coordination and a young man like yourself seems likely to play sports and of course, you’re here, so not unable to defend yourself. Your father isn’t in the picture, therefore it can’t be him. So not domestic. When I borrowed your phone, I noticed that one of your most recent texts is from your mother- you told her that you had arrived safely, but you also texted a person called Harry, telling him to look after your mum, so you are most likely siblings. You seem around eighteen or so, so your brother is most likely younger, or they probably wouldn’t still live at home. Your mother texted back to tell you not to get into any trouble--which leads me to the conclusion that you get into fights quite a bit. From your manner, it is unlikely you start them, no, you’re just capable of standing up for yourself, and as always, the teachers merely have poor timing. Easy.”

John stared at the boy in front of him. “That ... was amazing.”

“Do you think so?” he asked softly, as if he didn’t believe John's response.

John wanted to punch whoever had given him that reaction. His eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the universe, and from the way he was able to analyse him, John would have to agree with that. “Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say,” he said with a snort, falling back onto his bed, laying down still with his shoes on.

“What do people normally say?” John asked him.

“’Piss off’!”

John laughed and got up, deciding to head to bed. It was quite early, and lights out wasn’t until 11pm, but he was tired. He grabbed his bag of toiletries that he’d got from Poundland and went into the private little bathroom they had for themselves, which was fairly basic but seemed better than John's bathroom at home. There was a toilet, sink, heated towel rail, full length mirror, cabinet and a shower. He quickly went through his night time routine, showering, washing his face, brushing his teeth, checking his clothing for any loose threads or repairs that were needed. Upon finding none, he put it in the empty hamper which sat next to the cabinet, assumably for washing. John dried himself off and dressed in a pair of thin pyjama pants and a cheap sleep-shirt. Finally he went back out into the bedroom to find Sherlock still sitting there fully clothed. Hearing the door open, he looked up at John.

“Did I get anything wrong?” he asked.

John considered his question. “Harry is younger than me, we both get in fights with other kids quite a bit, as well, and teachers always have poor timing,” John confirmed.

“Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything,” Sherlock said.

John grinned. “And Harry’s short for Harriet.”

“Harry’s your sister,” Sherlock said, clearly annoyed that he’d missed that.

Chuckling, he replied, “Yeah. Now, are you gonna get ready for bed, or what?” 

Sherlock gritted his teeth.“Sister!”

“No, seriously, I want to go to sleep.”

Sherlock stood up. “There’s always something.”

~…~

**Author's Note:**

> tbc
> 
> \- Unbeta'd so any corrections are helpful :)
> 
> please review!


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